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When it comes to following hot Broadway performers, Off-Broadway actors and chorus boys, I wouldn't say I'm the most dedicated, but I'm one of the most literal—in fact, I tend to run into them on the street and say hello. [Most of the time, they're thrilled to be recognized and briefly chatted up by a fan, though one luscious blond(ish) boy has looked at me like I'm wearing a vest littered with bubonic plague-laced needles.]

My own Instagram is filled with sexy men about town, and probably a decent number of them are buff theater boys, sure to please all you theater buffs.

With innovations like Instagram, Facebook and Twitter, you don't even have to leave your home to ogle men who were—let's face it—born to be ogled.

Without further adieu, and in no particular order, here are just a few of the nonsensically beautiful, occasionally ecstatically exhibitionistic men of the theater who you may want to get social with real fast...

 

I went to one of the most riotously mismanaged press events ever Monday night—and that's saying a lot, considering I've been to hundreds over the past 15+ years, from rinky-dink teen parties to massive, mainstream clusterfucks. But oddly, as horrible as the press part was, the event it preceded went off without a hitch. In fact, the event—Lady Gaga's much-ballyhooed artRave—was really a blast, and would've been even more so had I not been having a bad age day and if I were more in love than in hate with her new record, ARTPOP.

I don't want anyone's "fucking throne" any more than Gaga, but I do expect to be treated respectfully, which was not on the menu.

Hear me out, Monsters, before sending me GRID-infected needles in the mail—and then if you're still not satisfied, hold your venom and just use me for the great pictures.

First, all press needed to arrive by 4:15PM at E. 35th and FDR to board a ferry, which would take us to the secret location, the Brooklyn Navy Yard. This meant it would be a torturously long evening, considering the party was starting at 9PM and rumor had it Gaga was going on around 1AM. But I showed up on time, only to find a gaggle of creatively attired Little Monsters cheerfully lined up on the pier, all hoping their chic sassiness would get them into the party, even without invitations. They were pretty adorable, but like gremlins, do not add water or all hell breaks loose. (I later heard zero fans were allowed into the event, only those with tickets, so it seems inhumane not to have rewarded at least the ones camped out and dressed up.)

The first harrumph came when I checked in, only to be told the PRs had no idea I was going to cover the red carpet, so they couldn't accommodate me. Uh, the event was structured as a press conference, tour of the space, red carpet and then party. Why on earth would I cover everything but the carpet? "I'll try to accommodate you, but it's very full," my contact said, unconcerned. Okay.

Gaga is the first woman with a case of blue balls.

Ferried over, having to listen to some of the photographers being assholes (they're not all assholes, far from it, but they're like the dwarves in Lord of the Rings—very clannish). One woman always acts like Queen of the Event Photogs, relaying info to us like she's our union rep. Unnecessary and presumptuous.

I'm so glad this is not my living. I give much respect to my sweet pal, who was with me but who shall remain nameless so as not to jeopardize his standing in said clan, who manages to do his job without being a jerk and without letting it drive him nuts. (He's nuts for different reasons.)

Note: I am very open to receiving IDs of any- and everyone in this post! 

Tons of sensationally hot videos are here. Tons more ditto pictures are here. And support Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS!

  My third Broadway Bares, directed by Josh Rhodes and assistant director Lee Wilkins and produced by Jerry Mitchell with a Monopoly theme, was the best yet even if the star power was not as jaw-dropping as one might expect for a 20th anniversary show—no matter, because who the fuck cares about Missy Tony Winner when you've got a stage filled with the country's best, brightest and nakedest Broadway dancers? The night was like one big no-handed edging session. I'm not sure if the experience is untoppable, but if it isn't, it's definitely a power bottom in sequins.

Shiny, happy people

Jason and I (pictured, above) showed up at 10:35 last night to line up for the midnight show, only to find the line snaking out of Roseland and about three-quarters of the way to 53rd already. It was already a gay-list day—not only did I spot both Leslie Jordan and Paolo Andino on Ninth Avenue, but I got all blogged down by brunching with Kenneth from Kenneth in the (212) and running into Jesse Archer, Joe Jervis (pictured), Jared Eng and Andy Towle at BB. See, not all bloggers spend their lives in the pajamas...though I'm in mine as I type this. Hmmm.

The lovely AJ Thorpe ushered us in

They let us in around 11:30, whereupon we made a beeline for the middle, settling on the inside edge of stage right. It was packed and quite warm (a 90-degree day had preceded) but not too bad. I feel terrible for the cute guy adhered to me from the front (I felt bad, but he felt good) because my camera must have poked him 200 times later on. I saw some of the usual pervs—myself included—many of whom pop up in my videos from previous years.

The show started 20 minutes late, but it unfolded at whiplash pace. Dapper Euan Morton (so brilliant eons ago in Taboo) kicked off the opening number "The Best Game in Town" in a top hat and tails a good little monopolist, introducing us to the lovely ladies who stood in for the iconic game pieces. Each and every one was described in sexually suggestive ways, even the wheelbarrow—you can guess what she's capable of carrying away.

No, THIS is the best game in town

 There she is, Miss...Vanessa L. Williams

The show's biggest star opened the whole thing 

With no build-up, he introduced the biggest stars of the night, the resurging Vanessa Williams (don't even dream that she would be dumb enough to get naked again) and everybody's favorite Christian Broadway bombshell Kristin Chenoweth. The ladies were on point and suitably glam, sporting nice gams.

Josh's entrance (the other one is available to view here.)

Joshua Buscher, a West Side Story dancer in possession of (this must be official somewhere?) the greatest white behind on the Great White Way was someone I picked out last year as a dazzler; this year, he starred in a show-stopping number called "The Bank" set to Lady GaGa's "Money Honey" (OMG, or was he copying Madonna???) that culminated with him dancing totally nude while basically wearing two male peers. It was a well-tailored fit. 

 

Josh puts it allll behind him

If you want all the minutiae about what the ladies accomplished this year, you might need to search for a Girl Culture blog; I love women, but I was so boycrazy I fear I will not do justice to the female-driven numbers. I do know that soon after a rowdy lipstick-lezzie lingerie number called "Connecticut Avenue", a talented, black-bustiered female Alysha Umphress crooned Journey's "When the Lights Go Down in the City" so well that I do hope someone went down on her after the show.

**If anyone knows the names of any of the unnamed guys in my post/pictures/videos, comment away!**

Broadway Bares all.

Last night was Broadway Bares 19.0, the 19th annual version of an event founded by Jerry Mitchell (who I interviewed last year when I was minding Towleroad for a week) featuring Broadway's hottest dancers and some well-known names performing in broad burlesque skits with original choreography set to familiar songs. The point—other than who wouldn't want to pay $50 to see the hottest bodies in New York next to naked?—is to raise cash for Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS. Each Broadway Bares installment has a theme, this year being the Internet, hence the title "Click It."

Keep reading for more like this.

I went with my friends Jason and Anthony and met up with their friends Phil and Guy (pictured—aren't they so cute?). After basically holding El Azteca on 9th Avenue hostage for hours on end followed by a brief appearance at Vlada that would have been considered a cameo if any of us were stars and if Vlada were a Russian expressionist film, we showed up at Roseland only to find the line wrapped all the way around the block. I was literally further back in line than I was for Madonna! So much for the recession keeping gay men from handing over cash in exchange for access to people's underthings.

Highlights from throughout the show.

Once we got in, we migrated to the side, where we were as close to the stage as possible considering our perilously late arrival. This was when I took it upon myself to arrange a quick photo op with Michael Urie from Ugly Betty, who's currently starring in the play The Temperamentals. (The staffer who took the shot took a pic of his own fact first. Cute.)

Though it later turned out that Urie didn't even perform in the show (he just did an ending speech which had been provided to him and which he mock ruefully pointed out was 13 pages in length)—Jason sniffed, "It's Broadway Bares, not Off-Broadway Bares!"—he was still a sweetheart.

Careful—private browsing isn't really private!

Truthfully, the show this year was somewhat lacking compared to last year's more vibrant and creative series of Alice in Wonderland vignettes, mainly because the Internet theme was a weak idea and had to be stretched beyond recognition in order to provide material for just over an hour's worth of numbers. (Pictured, a "surfing" as surfing sketch.)

There are tons of superhot women in the show, too...but notice the crowd's focus.

But there is no denying the good-natured vibe of this show, peopled by a cast of thousands of asses attached to shit-eating grins and, when the night ends and the dancers go into "Rotation" and strip for cash, stuffed with enough money to pay Dolly Parton to abandon Broadway forever.

As always, the aerial portions were the be-all end-all.

Though I think some of us were shocked that the ended as quickly as it did, there were some noteworthy highlights aside from the uniform excellence of its uniformless participants. The best number starred most of the night's best-looking, best-built guys—the Fantasy Football Dancers. "I'm not afraid to admit to a jockstrap fetish," one guy near me said, which is like admitting you like vodka at an AA meeting.

One of the nicest surprises was seeing Norm Lewis from The Little Mermaid in the altogether—nothing little about him.

Allison Janney was pretty hilarious as that annoying Mac color wheel alongside beyond-sexy Matt Skrincosky's PC hourglass, cracking herself up as she randomly pulled out her bepastied breasts one by one and later lampooning her own reputation in 9 to 5 ("poor thing can't sing or dance," people are saying) by shouting that Susan Boyle can't sing.

So, too, was Sutton Foster, who exulted in the freedom this appearance brought, the freedom to sport big hair, a little dress and to say the word "fuck" a lot.

Sutton Foster got carried away by Shrek's Dennis Stowe.

Bares vet Christopher Sieber read us the "what a riot!" act.

The main reason to patronize Broadway Bares is for Rotation, where you're allowed, even encouraged, to approach all your favorite dancers of the night and stuff money into, well, whatever tight spot they'll allow. Most were demure enough to attract dollars in respectable places, like hooked under the waistbands of their Aussiebum boxerbriefs, though a few daring rumpshakers sported jockstraps, which paradoxically provided fewer and more places to slip it to them.

Definitely a stand-out was Jockstrap Boy. Wish I'd brought a roll of quarters.

One of the Fantasy Footballers was definitely a tight end.

The most surprising hottie was writer/satirist Mo Rocca, who had done a cartwheel and high kick onstage, and who had no problem wiggling alongside Broadway's hottest, dancers Nick Adams (he of the Mario Lopez bicep imbroglio) and Spencer Liff.

Nick and Spencer: So cute together.

I was (a lot) like a fat kid with his hand in the cookie jar.

Speaking of Nick, he wound up getting $40 from me; I felt he deserved $20 for the bother and when it was all over he was still my favorite and I hadn't donated nearly enough, hence the repeat. He was a great sport and got on all fours the second time for a chaste spank. You know you've been married 15 years when these things mean so much to you.

There were several others who captured my heart and my ones and fives, as you'll see from the photos and videos.

Highlights from Rotation.

All in all, I had a great time and I'm glad Broadway Bares dances on. They should make this a permanent show on Broadway—I feel like it would attract an audience, which is generally what happens anytime attractive people disrobe let alone anytime talented people gather in a group and sing and dance. I'm thinking this 19th version might have been lacking due to Mitchell's absence (he's working on Catch Me If You Can in Seattle) and the possibility that everyone's saving up to make next year's 20th even more fant-ass-tic.

A word of advice—sell tickets to a pre-show meet-and-greet/photo op. You'll make more money than you've ever made.

Believe it or not, more pictures after the jump...